


Nobody Visits

by MillsFrancis



Series: Old works - Sherlock BBC [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillsFrancis/pseuds/MillsFrancis





	Nobody Visits

Nobody really visits Sherlock's grave. That's a good thing. It means it's calm and quiet and peaceful. Only John really goes now. It's secluded, in the corner. Away from the crowded areas of the cemetery. The grass is a little worn down in a path to the back of the grave. And there's a circle in front of it where John sits down. The grave stays new and clean, it's only been two years. _Only._

Recently, a willow tree started growing. Right next to the headstone. Life. John liked it. He watered it and took care of it. Now it's huge. Sherlock likes it too. It gives a little shelter. Not only from the elements but from the people. They all want to interfere but the branches shut them out. At least for a little while, whilst John's there. Sherlock's there when John visits. Always. Just to see his face. Just to hear his voice. John always talks to Sherlock when he visits. He comes every day, at the same time. It's part of his routine. Sherlock watches. He walks in the gate, crutch in hand (that damn limp is back) and makes his way to the tree in the distance. He parts the branches and lets them swing back again behind him. Then he crouches in front of the headstone. He smiles sadly and pats it gently before lowering himself carefully onto the ground. Stretching that leg out first, then plopping down. He crosses his legs as best he can. Then his eyes shut, and he takes a breath. Every time, a single breath. And then he speaks. It's always "Hello Sherlock." But what he says next varies.

To start with it would be "I miss you." Or sometimes "So…"

Then it changed to "Molly said" or something to that extent.

Occasionally it was "You bastard"

Or "I know you're not dead."

After two years he just chose from "Today was tough" or "Today was good" maybe sometimes he'd tell him why. Maybe a brief explanation, maybe a question here and there. But usually that was it.

Now he talks for hours. Telling Sherlock in great detail about his week. Probably because since he stopped visiting daily he's got more to say.

But whatever he says, he says with his eyes closed. And Sherlock slips out the moment he starts talking. He sits back to back with his own headstone, in the same position as John. Legs mostly crossed, eyes shut. Still.

He sits and listens contentedly until he hears John take a deep breath again. Then he creeps back behind the tree because he knows what comes next is "I should go now."

The first time John visited, he stayed behind the tree. It was the safest place since he didn't know how John would react or what he would do. He's glad John keeps his eyes shut; it means he can be near him. They're only a stone apart. How he wishes they could be together again. Sometimes Sherlock thinks he should just talk to John. That he should just go back. But then he remembers the stone between them is his backrest. And he's sitting against a gravestone with his name on it. He remembers that he's not ready to go back, the world isn't ready for him to go back. Not yet. So he stays hidden. Week after week.

After two years and six months, they're in the same position. Sat either side of the grave. One talking non stop, one silent as if he really were dead. That deep breath comes again. But what comes next isn't 'I should go now.' like it always is. Like it should be. Like Sherlock wishes it was.

"I'm not going to visit for a while Sherlock." He says instead. Said man freezes, halfway to his hiding place, and spins on his heel. John's eyes are still shut and if Sherlock squints, he can see tears brimming on the edges. They fall slowly as he continues.

"My therapist says I should go on holiday. Get out of this routine." He gestures around him with his hands, even though he thinks nobody's there. The detective can't believe what he's hearing. John doesn't want to go. He doesn't want John to go. But he has to. He's been ordered. Doctor's orders. How ironic.

"So, I have to go now." Sherlock's snapped out of his thoughts and jumps behind the tree just in time. His friend's eyes flick open, and before he knows it John's gone.

It turns out John goes on holiday to Spain for a whole seven months. That means it's January of next year when he arrives back. It's been three years since Sherlock went. The holiday hasn't helped; the first thing he wants to do is visit Sherlock. He wants to tell him everything. How the holiday had no effect, how he missed him and how he should fire his therapist. But when he walks slowly to the usual place, he doesn't find a tree. The tree is dead. He doesn't find a grave either, the headstone has gone. It looks as if it had never been there in the first place. The grass has even grown back. But John doesn't notice any of this, at least not in the front of his mind. What he does notice is the nearly six-foot man, sat cross-legged with his blue coat collar turned up to his cheek bones at his feet There are a lot of things John could do, and he contemplates them all. What he decides to do is sit by Sherlock's side. He assumes the same position, shutting his eyes too. And he can't help but notice how natural it feels to be sat there. He smiles, and knows Sherlock smiles too.

"I'm so glad you're back."


End file.
